The Lesser Of Two Evils
by Kissing Daisy
Summary: What will Ciel do when he is approached by a familiar gentleman offering to free his soul from Sebastian, allowing him to be reunited with his parents in heaven? Rated T for now, later chapters may be M for content. Expect crack, serious OC action, and character death. Oh, and a healthy dose of HEAVY F****N' METAL! Enjoy!
1. A(nother) Deal With A(nother) Devil

**AN:****  
This is my first proper attempt at a big, serious story. There will be yaoi later on, mostly CielxOC and SebaxGrell. Enjoy, and please R&R.**

Ciel Phantomhive sat alone in his study, reading that morning's _Times_. The front cover showed a large photograph of himself, with Sebastian looming in the background as always. The headline read "_Phantomhive Cracks Case Of Mystery Cat Burglar"_. He grunted in mild amusement. _He_ hadn't really done anything, besides ordering Sebastian to find out who the culprit was and apprehend them. In fairness, he thought, Sebastian would not have done that on his own, so technically I _did_ do all the work... Hah.

Outside, crickets chirped and birds sang in the stifling heat, the sounds floating through the open windows on the dead air. Suddenly, there was a breath of cold air on the back of Ciel's neck, as though it were snowing. Confused, Ciel shifted to look around the high back of his chair. It was the middle of June, not December, so where had that breeze come from?

"Hello there, little lord" came an effeminate voice from somewhere out of view. "How are we today?"

Ciel stiffened, reaching for the small pistol he kept in one of his desk drawers.

"Who's there?" he asked, in a cold voice that betrayed no trace of the nervousness he felt inside. "State your business or be gone. I will not tolerate such intrusions."

Although he couldn't see the speaker, Ciel could practically hear the pout in the unseen voice.

"How cruel you are, dear boy. Don't you remember me? After all we've been through, after all those... adventures we shared? I'm hurt..."

Ciel's eyes flickered about the room, searching for the source of the voice that now seemed to come from everywhere at once. There was certainly something familiar about it, something in the tone... Then it came to him.

"Grell?" he asked. "What the hell are you doing here? And show yourself, or I'll have Sebastian throw you out."

There was a dark chuckle from within the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, before its door swung open, and the smiling form of Grell Sutcliffe stepped out.

"Ahhh, Ciel" he trilled. "So nice to see you"

He stepped lightly across the room, red coat billowing out behind him as he went. He stopped short just in front of Ciel's desk, leaning his elbows on the wood and lowering his head to look directly into the young lord's eyes.

"You didn't answer my question" scowled Ciel. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

An odd look came into Grell's eyes, and he smiled, exposing his wickedly sharp teeth.

"Tell me, Lord Phantomhive. Do you know what will happen when you die?"

"Yes" replied Ciel. "Sebastian will eat my soul. That will be the end of everything."

Grell smiled that odd smile again, and pressed his lips to Ciel's ear.

"What if I told you that you can escape such a fate? What would you say? Hmmm?"

Outwardly, Ciel remained calm, but his mind was in turmoil. _What if_? He thought. _What if he's telling the truth? Is there really a way I can be reunited with my parents in the afterlife?_ He resolved to learn as much as he could, and see if the Reaper was lying or not.

"Go on" he said, inclining his head slightly, out of the way of Grell's hot breath.

Grell stood back from the desk, brushed down his coat, and coughed gently.

"In the darkest archives of the Grim Reapers," he said, his voice taking on a dark, forbidding tone "there is a Book. It is called the Book of Sebek, and it contains certain... details. Details that, if used correctly, could sever the contract between a demon and its master."

Ciel gasped.

"You mean... Sebastian will have no claim to my soul? I can go to heaven?"

"Yes, Lord Phantomhive" intoned Grell. "Your soul will be free once you die. However, there is a catch. Such is the unholy power of a demonic contract that breaking it will cause your lifespan to be shortened considerably."

Leaning back in his chair, Ciel steepled his fingers. Of _course_ there would be a catch like that. It was practically a tradition. To gain freedom in the afterlife, he would have to sacrifice some of his time on the mortal plane. However, maybe it would be worth it...

"How many years will I lose?" He asked.

"Well" replied Grell "Your time of death is not currently fixed, but I can estimate that you would die at the age of twenty-two if you took part in the ceremony of Sebek. It is a serious undertaking. Do you wish to engage my... services?"

Suspicion flared in Ciel's mind.  
"Why would you do this for me?" he asked.

To his surprise, Grell began to laugh.

"Oh, dear boy, it's not for _you_. It's for _me_. Once you are free, my dear, sweet Bassy will no longer have a master. He'll be waiting for me to _sweep_ him into my arms!" he said.

"I doubt that very highly..." muttered Ciel under his breath. He massaged his temples. Most of his brain was beginning to go into shock at the mere thought that he would be able to see his parents again, but the cold, analytical part that had kept him alive for so long began weighing up the pros and cons.

True, Sebastian had saved his life on countless occasions, and he _was _one hell of a butler, but was a mere servant worth his immortal soul? In his heart, Ciel knew that this was his one chance at redemption, and a wave of hope, excitement and bliss began to saturate every fibre of his being as he realised the significance of what he was about to do.

Ciel Phantomhive rose to his feet, pulled the patch from his eye to expose the mark of his contract, and took a deep breath.

"Grell Sutcliffe" he said, heart pounding in anticipation "I wish to perform the ceremony of Sebek, and be rid of my butler Sebastian Michaelis."

Grell smiled broadly.

"Very good, Lord Phantomhive." He motioned towards the grandfather clock. "This way, please."

Without a backwards glance, Grell strode into the open clock, and disappeared. After a brief moment of hesitation, Ciel followed, and was lost from sight.

In the kitchens of the Phantomhive Manor, Sebastian dropped the tray of tea he had been preparing, and sat down suddenly in a nearby chair. He knew something terrible was about to happen...


	2. The Book Of Sebek

**AN: ****  
Well, time for Ciel to see if it can be done. I wonder what Sebastian will think of all this...**

Ciel had to admit, travelling by clock was... different. He had stepped into the grandfather clock in his office one second, and the next emerged in a secret dungeon beneath the Grim Reaper Library, with no sense of movement whatsoever. All around him, water dripped from rough-hewn stone walls, pooling on the uneven floor.

The centre of the room was dominated by a stout plinth of gold-chased obsidian, upon which sat a small, tattered book. After the finery of its resting-place, and the primal claustrophobia of its prison, its simplicity came as something of an anti-climax.

"The Book of Sebek" said Grell from beside him. "Written in Egypt some time during the third Dynasty. Hundreds of wars have been fought merely to learn of its location."

"I didn't know that many people were in need of its services" remarked Ciel. "After all, one seldom sees _contracted _demons any more. Does it do anything else."

Grell looked uneasy. "We-ell" he said "the bearer of the Book can, with the correct preparation, enslave demons to his will, without the need to form a contract." He smiled sheepishly.

Ciel breathed in sharply, taken aback by the possibilities. With the Book at his disposal, he could...

"It can also be used to send a person back or forward in time." Grell said.

Ciel looked pensive for a moment, and then spoke. "Once the contract is broken, Sebastian will come looking for me. Alone, I will be no match for him..." Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "I have it! Grell, once you have broken the contract between myself and Sebastian, you will have to move me in time."

"Certainly, Lord Phantomhive. Where - or when, I should say - would you like to go?"

Ciel thought about this. He couldn't go back in time, because Sebastian would already be there. That left only forwards. "Hmmm..." he said. "Send me forwards, two hundred years maybe?"

Grell bowed slightly. "Of course, Lord. However, I must warn you that the spell is not completely precise. You will arrive within one hundred metres of here, and up to four years either side of your intended date."

"I can live with that" announced Ciel. "Now, let us proceed with the ritual."

Grell nodded, and walked over to the plinth. Muttering protective incantations in a low voice, he picked up the volume, opened it at a seemingly random page, and began to speak without preamble.

"Sweet Sebek, the bonds, grant that they may be broken  
Sweet Sebek, the vessel, grant that it may lay open  
Sweet Sebek, the demon, grant that it may be banished  
Sweet Sebek this we ask  
Sweet Sebek this we beg  
Sweet Sebek this we pray  
All hail Sebek!"

Although the words were spoken in an ancient and forgotten tongue, their meaning filtered through to Ciel's ears as clearly as if they had been in English.

Suddenly, Ciel felt a strange sensation deep within his heart, which quickly grew to a raging inferno of pain. He fell to his knees, and cried out, overcome by the feeling that his heart was literally being torn in half.

Just as the agony grew to a deafening crescendo of tortured nerve endings, Grell's voice was in in his ear.

"Fear not, Lord Phantomhive. This will pass."

Even as he spoke, Ciel felt the pain begin to recede, leaving him gasping on the rough floor like a landed fish. Then the hurt was gone, replaced with an incredible feeling of weightlessness. Without needing to ask, he knew that he was no longer bound to Sebastian.

"We must send you forwards quickly" said Grell. "Sebastian will have felt the breaking as well. He will come looking for you."

"Do it" said Ciel. "There is nothing to keep me here any longer."

Grell began to chant once more, although this time Ciel could not understand him. However, his vision began to fade at the edges, and a great cold gripped his body. As the chamber faded to blank whiteness, Ciel passed out, and did not awake for a long time.

Grell leant against the plinth, breathing hard. The ritual had been draining for him as well as for Ciel, and he knew that he did not have much time to prepare for Sebastian's inevitable appearance.

He replaced the Book of Sebek on its pedestal and pressed a jagged stone seemingly at random. A section of the rock rumbled into the floor, and Grell jogged up the staircase that was revealed.

Far above the Phantomhive estate, Sebastian screamed his fury into the night, as he turned lithely in the air, and headed for London.

Ciel awoke to darkness, cold and wet. He opened his eyes to find himself in an alley, stark naked and lying on the cobbles. Idly, his battered mind realised that the spell must have worked, sending him into the future, whilst also wondering where his clothes had gone.

Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him, and before he could turn, a young voice spoke out.

"Well what have we got here then?"

**AN:  
Dun-dun-duuuun! Dramatic cliffhanger ending (I hope). Chapter 3 hasn't been written yet, but the person who just spoke to Ciel is the second protagonist and first OC. _IF_ you review (properly, not just saying "yay" or "cool", then put your ideas for the new guy down. He WILL get shipped with Ciel, so if you're going to have a go at this, make him pretty...**


	3. Just Like Fanservice

**AN:****  
Warning! Abandon hope all ye who expect serious, meaningful fiction that is in some way relevant to the actual series. From here on in it's going to be crack/lemon/crack/lemon/crack etc, etc. Enjoy. (Oh, and promocat, you'll just have to wait and see :p)**

"Well what have we got here then" said the voice from somewhere behind Ciel. He turned, ready to flee, and looked up into the handsome face of a boy about his age, with short, spiked bleach-blond hair, pale skin, and eyes that gleamed black in the half-light. He was wearing what seemed to Ciel the outlandish outfit of a black t-shirt bearing the legend "Amon Amarth" and hugely bulky black canvas trousers festooned with spikes and chains.

"P-please..." Ciel stammered "Help me..." Feebly he reached out a hand, whilst belatedly trying to cover himself with the other.

The strange boy gave Ciel a long, appraising look, taking in his lean, pale figure with some interest. He smiled, and grasped Ciel's hand, pulling him upright.

"Okay. You can stay with me tonight. You look like you've had a rough time."

Ciel began to thank him, but the boy cut him off.

"But first I'll have to get you some clothes. We can't have you walking around London with your balls hanging out. You'll get arrested... Wait here. I'll be back in about five minutes."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the alley, the chains on his trousers clinking rhythmically as he walked. Cold, and alone once more, Ciel sank back down to the ground, and hugged himself, trying to fend off the evening chill.

Fabian Wake smiled to himself as he walked down Westcott Street. There was a little clothes shop that didn't close until the early hours, using its nocturnal image to appeal to the more literally-minded goths who took their vampire obsessions to unhealthy extremes, and the boy in the alley didn't look like he'd care what he wore, so long as it was warm.

As he stepped into the side alley containing the shop, he wondered what had happened to the boy to wind him up naked in an alley in one of the rougher neighbourhoods in east London. The he realised he didn't care. The guy was hot, and Fabian was bored. Who knew, maybe he could have some fun...

The five minutes seemed an eternity to Ciel, and he was impossibly glad to see the boy return, holding a large bag.

"Here" said the boy, handing Ciel the bag.

"Thank you" said Ciel earnestly "If I can ever repay you..."

"You can start by telling me your name. Mine's Fabian. Fabian Wake."

"Ciel Phantomhive" replied Ciel, through lips almost numbed by cold.

Fabian laughed. "That's got to be the worst fake name _ever_" he chuckled. "But whatever. I'll call you Ciel of you want. Now get dressed, so I can take you home..."

Nodding, Ciel opened the bag. Inside was a pair of black trousers, similar to the ones Fabian was wearing, but without the spikes or chains, a plain black t-shirt, and a pair of black leather boots. Silently, Ciel pulled them on, fumbling occasionally as his numb fingers tried to make sense of unfamiliar fastenings. Eventually, he was dressed, and Fabian smiled.

"There" he said. "_Now_ we can go home. I expect you're tired after... whatever it is you've been through. Come on."

Taking Ciel by the arm, he guided him through a maze of streets lit with hundreds of dazzling colours, each utterly alien to Ciel's baffled mind. So drained was Ciel that he barely registered arriving at a small house on the end of a long terrace, and did not protest when Fabian led him to a bedroom and undressed him, before pulling the covers up around him. In his mind, he was back in his own time, in his manor, being attended to by Sebastian. Before Fabian had even left the room, Ciel was fast asleep and snoring loudly.

Two hundred years in the past, Sebastian's outpouring of rage rolled around the skies of London like an unholy thunderstorm, causing nightmares and visions to appear in the minds of hundreds of people sleeping in the city below. _How dare he? _thought Sebastian furiously. _How dare that brat Ciel Phantomhive break their contract? When he caught him, he would eat his soul on the spot, and the contract be damned. _

Although the contract between himself and Ciel had been severed, Sebastian had spent more than enough time with his former master to be able to track him by any number of methods, including scent, the taste of his soul on the air, or by simply questioning people close to him. However, none of those methods were working, and that worried the demon. Had Ciel left the mortal plane? Had he died, and gone to heaven following the breaking of the contract?

Sebastian let out a horrific scream of anger, causing a fresh rash of terror and panic in the slumbering city below him. For the past three years, his sole purpose in life had been preparing Ciel Phantomhive's soul so that he might one day consume it. To be thwarted now, after so much manipulation... had the whole Trancy affair been a wasted effort?

The mere thought of having wasted so much effort enraged Sebastian beyond measure, and he roared in frustration once more. Suddenly, an idea came to him. There _was_ one group of people who could tell him whether Ciel was dead or not: the Grim Reapers. If he had died, one of them would have collected his soul, and his Cinematic Record and Doomsday Book would be stored in the Reapers' library.

Like a great bat, Sebastian swooped across the night sky, heading for the Grim Reaper headquarters...

**AN:  
****It would appear that Sebastian is somewhat unhappy. Someone's day is about to get very, very badly ruined. To the people who PM'd me with ideas, apologies for not using one idea outright. Fabian is a cross between all of the characters that were proposed, although that may not become clear for some people unil their concept surfaces later on. Hope you enjoyed this, I'm off to get Chapter 4 ready for you.**


	4. Home, Sweet Home

**AN:****  
And now, the dramatic continuation. Keep those reviews coming, people...**

Ciel awoke slowly, in an unfamiliar bed, looking at an unfamiliar ceiling. He sat up and rubbed his eyes as his memory returned in trickles. _So this is the future_, he thought, looking down to find himself completely naked beneath the sheets.

Pulling the covers around him, Ciel sat on the edge of the bed, and took stock of his surroundings. He was in a small, sparsely furnished room, with walls that were entirely covered in pictures of groups of angry-looking people, with phrases like "Cannibal Corpse", "Dimmu Borgir" and "Slipknot" superimposed on them in bizarre fonts. Some wore corpse paint, whilst others wore masks. Most seemed to be covered in tattoos.

_Great_, thought Ciel. _I've been taken in by devil-worshippers or cultists or something. Why do I always end up in situations like this?_ He decided that it wouldn't be a particularly good idea to try and escape, and resolved to wait until whoever lived in this place came to fetch him.

He cast his gaze around the room, looking for a wardrobe or some clothes. He found the strange black clothes that the mysterious stranger (_What was his name?_) in a pile on the floor, and began pulling them on. As he was lacing up the heavy boots, it came to him. _Fabian Wake. Maybe this is his house. _

At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and without waiting for Ciel to answer, Fabian strolled in, wearing nothing but a pair of baggy cargo shorts. His short hair was slicked-down and wet, and it looked like he had just gotten out of the bath.

"Morning, sleepyhead" he smiled. "Rough night?"

Ciel figured that honest might not be the best policy, and nodded. "You could say that" he admitted.

Fabian grinned, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Care to tell me about it?"

"Not really, no" said Ciel, coldly.

Wake grinned, and put up his hands. "Fair enough. I've had a couple of those before..."

"You really haven't" muttered Ciel.

"Whatever. Are you coming to breakfast?"

Ciel realised suddenly that he was starving. "Please" he nodded.

Fabian turned and walked out of the door. Realising he was meant to follow, Ciel hurried from the room after him.

The kitchen turned out to be just like the bedroom: spartanly furnished, but heavily decorated. More posters lined the walls, and were tacked onto the fronts of cabinets. A strange-looking oven sat in one corner, next to a large white cabinet which was mostly covered by a poster depicting five men underneath an unintelligible jumble of letters. Fabian was standing over the stove, and he looked up as Ciel entered.

"You like bacon?" he asked.

"Sure" replied Ciel, not wanting to annoy his host.

Wake grinned. "Good" he said "'cause it's all I've got. Take a seat."

Ciel lowered himself gently into a nearby chair, as the smell of frying bacon filled the small kitchen. A few minutes later, Fabian shovelled four rashers onto a grubby plate, and handed it to him, along with some stained cutlery. Thanking him, Ciel dived in, quickly finishing the meal. Across the table, Wake sniffed the air.

"You fucking stink, man. You need a bath or something."

Ciel was inclined to agree. He was sweaty and grubby, and the idea of a nice hot bath sounded frankly divine. He said as much to Wake, and was surprised when the other man began to laugh uncontrollably.

"_What_ is so funny?" he asked angrily.

"Your fucking voice" replied Fabian through his snorts. "You sound like a Victorian or some shit."

"That's because I damn well... had a good education" Ciel caught himself just in time.

"Huh" grunted Wake. "Never really bothered with school once I turned sixteen." He looked at Ciel as though considering him for the first time. "How old are you anyway?"

"Eighteen" said Ciel reflexively, before inwardly cursing himself. Why had he let slip his real age? He could have used a fake age... somehow.

"Oh, cool" said Fabian disinterestedly. "I'm nineteen. You aren't from round here, are you?"

"No. I'm from, umm" Ciel wracked his brains desperately "Sheffield. Yeah."

"Nice try, buddy" laughed the older man. "No accent. Dead giveaway. Whatever. Doesn't really bother me. So what are you doing in London, anyway?"

Ciel regarded him with tired, despairing eyes. "I honestly do not have the first fucking clue. Look, I'll be honest" he sighed, the words tumbling out of him in a cathartic flood. "I've got no house, no job, no money, and no friends in the world. It's not a sob story, it's just a fact."

It was Wake's turn to sigh. "Well, I can't really kick you out now, can I? I suppose I _might_ be able to find you a job, of sorts. Can you play an instrument?"

"I play piano and cello and I sing a little." Answered Ciel. "But I don't see what that has to do with..."

"Perfect" interrupted Fabian. "I know a band who could use a decent keyboard player. You any good?"

Ciel raised an eyebrow. "Find me a piano, and I'll show you..."

Wake grinned. "You'll do. Right, go and get cleaned the fuck up. The bathroom is up the stairs, first door on the right. Just use the soap and towels and shit in there. When you're done, come back down, and I'll take you to meet the band."

"Ok" answered Ciel, getting to his feet and setting off upstairs. Once he could hear the bath being run, Fabian took out his mobile, and excitedly punched in a number, cursing every ring that went by without an answer.

"Carl" he said, once he was connected "Get the guys together at your place fucking pronto. I think I've just found us a keyboard player. What's he like? He's a fucking freak, talks like a Victorian, I found him naked in the street last night. I know, right? Fucking weirdo... Yeah, whatever, see you in an hour, man."

He hung up, and put the phone back in his pocket. If this Ciel was as good as he said he was, then it could finally mean that they could hit the big-time. _Fuck, _he thought _we could do it. We could really do it..._

The Library of the Grim Reapers was a scene of carnage and devastation. Dead and wounded Reapers lay everywhere, and scattered books covered the floor. In the midst of the chaos, still wearing the tattered remnants of his butler's uniform, stood Sebastian Michaelis.

He was holding Grell by the throat, all but choking the redhead to death. He pressed his face close to the Reaper's, and snarled in a quiet voice that was somehow more terrifying than the loudest roar.

"I'm going to ask you one last fucking time. Where. The. Fuck. Is. Ciel. Phantomhive? " his voice suddenly rose to a horrifying bellow. "_Where is he, you bastard?!_"

Barely able to speak, Grell managed to choke out a few syllables.

"Fuck... you... Bassy... Ciel... gone... future... can't ... bring... back..."

With a roar of hatred, Sebastian closed his fist, crushing Grell's windpipe and crushing his spine to powder with his ungodly strength. Turning on his heel, he strode from the ruined Library, whilst behind him Grell Sutcliffe's dreams of love and happiness died in a world of white numbness.

_I will find you, Ciel Phantomhive_, he thought _even if it takes me a thousand fucking years, I will find you and eat your soul. You will not escape me..._"

**Ooops... Now Sebastian is REALLY angry, and Grell is REALLY dead. Guess who's next on the hitlist?**


	5. Vikings On Acid

**AN:****  
I wrote this chapter really late at night, then I forgot to upload it. I'm sorry, ok?**

Half an hour later, Ciel was washed, dressed, and in the front seat of Fabian's car, on his way to meet the mysterious group of people who made up "the band". He couldn't stop looking wide-eyed at all of the different parts of the car, like the stereo and the electric windows, and it was starting to annoy Fabian.

"For fuck's sake" he sighed, exasperatedly "will you stop staring at everything like that? It's creeping me out. It's like you've never been in a fucking car before, and..." his voice trailed off as he noticed Ciel's ear, half-hidden below his black hair.

"Dude" he said "have you had your ears pierced?"

"Yes" replied Ciel, confused "why?"

A strange grin flickered over the other man's face. "The guys are just gonna fucking _love_ you..."

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Ciel, who felt that he was rapidly losing control of the situation.

Fabian smiled. "No, no, no, kiddo, for about the second time since I've known you, you've done something _right_. We'll just make a detour along the way.

Five minutes later, Fabian pulled up outside a shop called "Eternal Angel - Tattoo and Piercing".

"Stay here" he said to Ciel, before getting out of the car. "I'll only be a minute."

One minute swiftly became five, then ten. Bored, Ciel found his curiosity getting the better of him. His hand reached out, and prodded a button in the middle of the dashboard experimentally. Suddenly, he was blasted back into his seat by a wall of noise so intense it was like a physical blow. It sounded like an explosion being replayed over and over, whilst someone killed a pig with a circular saw in the foreground. Horrified, Ciel reached for the button to see if it would make the noise stop, but something stayed his hand. There was a... rhythm... behind the sounds, a primal beat that made him want to nod his head, faster, faster, _harder_...

A few minutes later, Fabian exited the shop holding a large bag, and was shocked to find his car stereo on full blast, with Ciel headbanging inside like a maniac. He tilted his head as he tried to identify the band. _Cerebral Bore, _he thought. _Maybe the kid has taste after all..._

Startled, Ciel jumped as Fabian opened the door and got back in. Hastily, he hit the radio, and the music stopped.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I just got bored and..." he began, fearing that Fabian would kick him out of the car, or worse...

To his surprise, Fabian just laughed. "Don't worry, man. It's an awesome song. So you're a Cerebral Bore fan then?"

"A what?" asked Ciel, confused.

"Cerebral Bore" repeated Wake. "You know, what you were just listening to?"

"Oh, right" said Ciel. "Yeah, I guess. That was the first time I've ever listened to... to anything like that. What _was_ it?"

The other man laughed again. "That's death metal, buddy, and if you liked that then you're going to fucking _love _the job I've found you..."

Still laughing, Fabian clicked the stereo back on, and the pair drove off, headbanging like berserk Vikings on acid. **(AN: I don't normally butt in like this, but you've got to admit, that's one hell of an image...)**

Twenty metres and two hundred years away, Sebastian dropped the dead tramp he had been holding into the overflowing gutter. Whilst he had served Ciel, he had not feasted on souls, in order that his eventual meal would be all the sweeter, but now... now the sweetness of the soul was immaterial. What mattered was that he got it. To that end, he had gone on a killing spree after leaving the ruins of the Grim Reapers' Library, consuming the souls of dozens of whores, tramps, and other denizens of the night in a single evening of death.

His power was beginning to grow, swelling inside of him like an unholy vortex of despair. Already, Sebastian could feel his senses becoming keener, his muscles becoming stronger, and his demonic powers beginning to manifest outwardly. Small horns now curved upwards from his forehead, and his once-red eyes were now roiling orbs of flame. His fingernails thickened into great claws, and he could feel the skin of his back beginning to split as huge dark wings began to grow and push through.

Now wearing a spare butler's uniform that he had taken from his quarters in the Phantomhive manor, Sebastian strode through the rainy London night, water flashing into steam centimetres before it touched his altered form. The narrow streets were crowded, but Sebastian went unaffected, people going to great lengths to avoid contact with him. Although their mortal senses could not properly detect it, his demonic presence was now strong enough to be unpleasant at close quarters.

Turning off the main street, Sebastian ducked into a narrow alleyway, reeking of garbage and urine. A homeless woman lay under a tattered blanket, and tried to scream as she was dragged roughly to her feet. However, Sebastian wrapped one hand around her throat, and lifted her off the ground as she gurgled hopelessly. With a barely-perceptible grunt of effort, he punched his free hand into her stomach, tearing through flesh and internal organs before ripping out of her back in a gout of dark blood. The woman convulsed as she expired, and Sebastian withdrew his blood covered hand, feeling his body begin to change once more as the stolen life-energies flowed through him. With a brief stab of barely-noticed pain, and accompanied by the sounds of tearing cloth, massive wings of black, leathery skin erupted from the back of Sebastian's coat. His shadow in the pale moonlight stretched and expanded as his body grew, feeding off the dying woman's soul.

Dropping the pathetic corpse, Sebastian surveyed the blood-splattered alley through the burning eyes of his new demonic body. _Soon, _he thought, _soon I will be so powerful that the petty laws of time and space will hold no sway over me. And on that day, Ciel Phantomhive, I will make your worst nightmares come true. There will be no heavenly reunion for you... only a horrific, lingering death..._

**AN:****  
I thought that Sebastian needed to be a little bit scarier still. An angry demonic butler is all very well and good, but this guy? He's like Sauron and Voldemort and Loki and Horus all rolled into one... WITHOUT the sucky win record... I think Ciel might have been better off being eaten...**


	6. A Warm Welcome

**AN: ****  
Well, now dear old Sebastian is a fucking dark lord, how about we finally meet the band, huh? Keep those reviews coming in, folks. Honestly, there isn't really a reason besides that that I keep putting new chapters up... That and because my shameless self-insertion is coming up in a couple of chapters... and I'm far too egotistical to miss that. (Bobby, I swear to whichever god or gods are listening right now, if you reveal which one I am, I will fucking end you. With a cactus. Love ya!) But I digest... (Anyone who didn't get that should watch more Family Guy.) Ok, ok, enough. Seriously...**

After ten minutes of further driving, during which Ciel had alternated between headbanging like a lunatic and fearing for his life as Fabian dodged and weaved between traffic and around pedestrians, the car pulled up outside a run-down house sitting slap-bang in the middle of a long terrace of equally run-down houses. The garden was overgrown, and the fence looked like someone had kicked it down, then chopped parts of it up for firewood.

Fabian turned off the engine, and got out. "You coming?" he asked.

"Sure" said Ciel, releasing his death-grip on the dashboard.

The pair walked up to the front door, and Fabian hammered on it with his fist.

"Carl you drunk German bastard!" he yelled "I know you're in there! Open up!"

There was a rattling of chains from behind the door, and after some fumbling with the knob, the door swung inwards, to reveal a tall, heavy-set man with long blond hair and a thick golden beard, wearing the same kind of baggy, spiked trousers as Fabian, with a t-shirt with the words "Cradle Of Filth" written across the top in a barely-legible script.

"Hey, Fabian" he said, in a deep voice that bore only a slight Teutonic accent. "Is this the new guy, then?"

"Yeah" replied Wake. "Are the others here?"

Carl nodded. "Uh-huh. They're pretty hung-over, but they all made it. This guy had better be worth the hassle."

"I am" said Ciel, the arrogance that had once been such a prominent feature of his personality beginning to reassert itself.

Carl laughed. "I _like_ this one, Fabian. He's funnier than you."

"Fuck you, Carl" replied Fabian, smiling.

"Come on in then" said Carl, turning and leading them into the house. As he crossed the threshold, Ciel noticed that Carl's shirt bore the slogan "Jesus Is A Cunt" across the back in block capitals.

Carl lead them into a small lounge, with two battered sofas and a well-worn old armchair, set around a huge stereo system that looked like the only clean thing in the room. Three men lounged on the chairs, smoking and drinking.

"Wake up, lads" boomed Carl, chuckling as the men clutched aching heads and shot him evil looks. "Look what Fabian found."

He pointed with a meaty finger. Suddenly all eyes were on Ciel, who shuffled nervously. An awkward silence stretched on for long seconds, before a slim, short-haired man wearing a baggy wifebeater and cargo shorts, with arms covered in tattoos spoke up in a heavy Scots accent.

"Looks like a reet fockin' faggot. Is he any good?"

Ciel bristled. "Hey, fuck you" he spat back. The skinny tattooed man jumped to his feet, getting close to Ciel in seconds.

"You wanna go, you fockin' cunt?" he snarled into Ciel's ear. "You wanna fockin' start sommin? Ah'll fockin' ruin youse, you fockin' little faggot!"

Suddenly, Carl was between them. "Sy, sit the fuck down before you embarrass yourself even more."

"Fock you" replied Sy angrily, but he sat back down all the same.

"Sorry about that" said Carl apologetically. "That's Sy Boulter, and if you didn't already guess from his complete lack of manners, he's our drummer. We'd get rid of him, but he is actually seriously good."

Sy started to say something in reply, but Carl ignored him turning to point at the other two seated men.

"He" he said, pointing at a man of average build with shoulder-length, dirty blond hair and a vacant expression, wearing ripped jeans and a faded t-shirt with a Union Jack logo "is Jack Davidson, and when he's not stoned out of his skull, he plays bass."

A pair of bleary eyes turned to regard Ciel, eventually focussing on a point somewhere over his left shoulder. "'Sup, buddy" he said, lazily.

"Hey" said Ciel, relieved at the lack of hostility in his voice. He tried to think of something else to say, but Carl had already moved on to the third man.

"And this grubby fucker" he indicated a slightly overweight, bald man, wearing jeans and a heavy puffed jacket with a fur collar, "is Pete O'Neill. He's our roadie, sound tech, and temporary vocalist. We had another guy, but he... left. And Pete's pretty good, to be fair."

Pete acknowledged Carl's words with a half-hearted wave.

"You already know Fabian, who plays rhythm guitar" continued Carl "And then there's me. Carl Geir. I play lead guitar, and do backing vocals on a couple of songs."

He looked at Fabian. "Did I miss anything?"

Wake looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "Don't think so. So, Ciel, you know the guys, guys, this is Ciel... what was it again? Phantomhive? He plays keyboard."

The band members all gave each other long looks, then burst out laughing.

"Son" said Pete, as he came up for air "that has got to be about the stupidest stage name I've ever heard..."

The Phantomhive estate burned as Sebastian walked away, casually tossing aside Bard's charred corpse like a rag doll. Clouds of pure hate roiled around his hulking form, and seething jets of smoke spewed from his nostrils in time with his breathing. At last, his transformation was complete, his full power congealed into one form. Now, all he had to do was think, and he could be anywhere, _anywhen _that had ever, or would ever be. It would be the work of moments to reach Ciel's time and kill him... If he knew _when _that time was...

Silently, he cursed himself for killing that irritating Reaper. He knew full well that Ciel had been shunted through time using the ungodly power of the Book of Sebek, but he had no idea how far he had gone, or even which way he had gone. The stink of dark magic, so obvious to his altered senses, had been all over Grell, meaning that he had performed the ritual. _That_ meant he had known Ciel's destination... if only there was some way to find out where he had sent that bastard brat...

Then it struck him. There _was_ a way. Grell Sutcliffe, as a Grim Reaper, had been an appointed servant of God. That meant that after his death, he was guaranteed a place in Heaven, just as Sebastian was guaranteed a spot in the lowest circle of Hell._ There must be some way to gain access to Heaven_ thought Sebastian. _Maybe, just maybe, the Book of Sebek held the answer. It would all depend on the wording of the spells contained within. It was a slim chance... but it would be worth it. Ciel's soul would be his..._

With a flap of his unnatural wings, Sebastian launched himself into the air, angling once more for the burning remains of the Grim Reapers' Library.

**AN:  
****Looks like killing Grell once wasn't enough for Sebastian... he's off to the afterlife to kick his arse a second time... (Why am I doing this to poor Grell? He's my favourite character, dammit!) And how is Ciel going to react to a room full of people laughing at his proud family name? Find out next time on "That Kuroshitsuji Music Show!" (Just kidding, it'll still be "The Lesser Of Two Evils" that you know, and dare I say it, enjoy.) Love you all!**


	7. Dude (That Was Awesome)

**AN: ****  
Looks like I seriously mistimed the C6 upload, which means this story has slipped back to the second or third page. Grrr... I hate posting in active categories... Hopefully this can get me back into the spotlight. (If you hadn't already noticed, I'm a narcissistic egomaniac. I**_** need**_** this to get views.) But anyway, let's see how Ciel takes a room full of people laughing at him, shall we? With apologies to Ichigo Kurosaki, the other members of Soul Reaper, and Alex McM...**

The laughter washed over Ciel, drenching him in hot waves of shame. He felt his cheeks begin to colour as the anger built up inside him. _How dare they laugh at my family name? _He thought furiously, _how dare they? They're not even fit to serve me..._

The sound grew and grew around him, tearing at his ego with steel claws. Suddenly, something snapped inside Ciel. He took a deep breath. **(AN: Plot device alert!)**

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP!_" he screamed, the noise ripping out of his throat in an unearthly roar. There was silence. Sweat ran down his temples, and the sound of his harsh breathing seemed to magnify to a deafening rasp in his ears. He noticed that all eyes were on him.

"_What?_" he snapped.

"Dude" breathed Jack "that was fuckin' brutal! Do it again!"

"Yeah, do it" said Carl.

There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the band members. Nervously, Ciel looked at Fabian, who nodded encouragingly. He shuffled his feet, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Get on wi' it, yer fockin' cunt!" shouted Sy.

The drummer's words gave Ciel the push he needed. Drawing in another deep breath, he looked straight into the other man's eyes, and let out his anger and pain in one cathartic yell.

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP!" _

This time, his words were greeted by whoops and cheers from the band. Carl patted him on the back with one huge hand.

"Well, Fabian" he said, looking over at his fellow guitarist "I don't know what this guy's like with a keyboard, but I want him in just for his voice."

"Damn right" said Pete, looking rather relieved to see that his job was being taken. The rest of the band members looked round at him.

"What?" he said. "Come on. I know I suck. You guys deserve better than me, and I'm happier working behind the scenes as it is. Let the kid have a chance."

"I agree" said Jack. "Let's be honest here. We don't really need a keyboard player. What we need is a proper vocalist. We've been sounding fuckin' weak since... since Will left."

"Well then Ciel" said Carl, dwarfing the smaller man with his bulk "What do you say? Are you in?"

Ciel's head began to spin. Everything was happening so suddenly. One moment he had been in his own time, then he had woken up naked two hundred years in the future, and the next moment he was being offered a job in a band. _What the fuck is going on? _he thought to himself. At that moment, he made up his mind. He was alone in what was essentially a strange land, and these were the first friendly people he had met. He figured that it would be best if he stayed with them.

"Fuck it" he said. "I'm in."

Sebastian swore in frustration as he sifted through the ashen remains of the Grim Reapers' library. The Book of Sebek was here, he could _feel_ it. He had shifted back into his human form, finding his hulking demonic body too cumbersome and unwieldy for the delicate task of pawing through rubble and piles of half-burnt books. Despite this, his razor-keen senses remained undulled, and he sent black tendrils of power out into his surroundings, worming through cracks in tumbled masonry and slithering under discarded books like snakes through leaf-litter.

Even such a thorough investigation was proving fruitless, and Sebastian was about to give up his search in disgust when one of the furthest-reaching mind-probes he had sent out suddenly stiffened. It had found something. Swiftly, Sebastian sent a portion of his consciousness into the probe, crackling down its length like chained lightning. As he reached the tip, an image began to resolve in his mind. _There. _Half-hidden beneath a fallen bookcase was a concealed trapdoor, barely visible to begin with, now mostly obscured by wreckage and scattered books.

With a hiss of triumph, Sebastian stood from where he had been kneeling on the floor, and strode towards the back of the library, following the signals from the portion of his mind that resided in the probe. Reaching the bookcase, he gripped its edge with one hand and effortlessly threw it against the opposite wall. Dropping to his knees, he swept the books and brick dust from the hidden door, and looked for a pull-ring or catch to open it, but found none.

Sebastian smiled. _No matter,_ he thought, punching downwards through the thick oak boards again and again until he had made an opening big enough for him to fit through. Stale, dead air wafted up from below. With a grin, he leant forwards and dropped out of sight.

After a short drop, he landed in pitch darkness in a narrow passageway. His eyes adjusted instantly, and he saw a short flight of stairs leading downwards ahead of him. Striding confidently along the corridor, he was entirely unsurprised to find a wall of solid rock blocking his path. With the smallest grunt of effort, Sebastian lashed out with his right foot, splitting the stone down the centre with a resounding crack. A short flurry of punches later, and the wall crumbled in front of him, ancient semi-magical machineries obliterated in seconds.

On the other side of the wall lay a small stone chamber, with an obsidian pedestal at its centre. Sebastian smiled triumphantly as he saw the small book that lay atop it. Crossing the room in a few swift steps, he reached out and picked up the small volume. Without opening it, his demonic senses told him that it was indeed the Book of Sebek.

Sebastian sat down, his back against the pedestal, and began to read. If the Book offered a way into Heaven, it would be hidden amongst the most tortuous wording imaginable, and would not be readily visible, even to one of his inhuman cunning. However, time was no longer of the essence. With the Book of Sebek at his command, Sebastian was now the master of time itself.

_Now then, Ciel Phantomhive_ he thought. _Let us see how you fare with a demon on your trail.._

**AN:  
****Sebastian vs. Heaven! Taking all bets! (I've got to be honest, I don't even know if he'll get there in the next chapter. I'm not writing this to a plan, I'm literally just writing whatever comes into my head and then hammering it into a semi-coherent storyline.) Thanks for putting up with my bizarre update times, I live in England and the site is run on an American clock, so... Anyway, see you next time!**


	8. The Calm Before The Storm

**AN:****  
Waaah! All these people telling me to update and getting my gender wrong! Why is writing a simple silly story so fucking stressful? Anyway, have a chapter based entirely on dear old Sea-Bass. (Well, kinda...)**

The road to heaven was paved with corpses. Thick black smoke curled up from the burning forests that lined the path, and the stone flags were slick with blood. Thousands of the recently-dead, souls clad in otherworldly new bodies that mimicked them as they had been in their prime lay dead, their immortal essence ripped from its hosts and subsumed into the roiling mass of hate which resided at the core of the being once known as Sebastian Michaelis.

Standing well over eight feet tall, Sebastian's hellish form was bloated and dripping with the souls of the dead. He no longer wore anything resembling his old butler's uniform, and instead was draped in a crimson cloak, with plates of black steel protecting his chest, legs and arms. Huge horns sprouted from his head, and his great claws were drenched in gore.

He raised his head to the smoke blackened sky of Cyllembar, the land between Heaven and Earth, and roared in triumph. The ground trembled and split like glass, blood seeping between the cracks, first in trickles, and then in torrents. Soon, Sebastian stood in a shallow sea of rapidly-spreading blood, dark viscera washing around his ankles and lapping at his calves.

He roared again, part triumphant howl, part blasphemous call. Suddenly, the blood-sea began to boil, spitting and hissing like a thousand furious serpents. A hand punched up through the bubbling gore, skinless and clawed. It was followed by an arm, then another. A horned, snarling face came next, sitting atop a muscular torso and legs. One of the red-skinned hands clutched a heavy blade of black iron, which the newly arisen demon raised towards Sebastian in salute. All around him, the motion was replicated, as tens of thousands more demons dragged themselves into Cyllembar, the dark magic of the Book of Sebek allowing them to exist on the hallowed ground.

Accompanied by the sound of tearing flesh, Sebastian changed forms. Now he stood as a tall human male, with alabaster skin. His eyes were still balls of flame, and small black horns sprouted from his brow, but he wore a sharply-tailored suit in place of his martial garb. Two katana were sheathed across his back, and a matched pair of heavy pistols hung in concealed holsters under his arms. Black tattoos covered his white body, writhing tribal designs that snaked around his arms and rose to decorate his shaven skull. Dozens of rings hung from his ears, jingling as he turned his head to survey his newly-birthed army. He smiled, revealing sharp canines and a forked tongue.

"Friends!" he cried, raising his arms into the air. "For so long you have waited for revenge on the Angels who cast you down into the Pit. Now, the time of reckoning is at hand!"

He lowered his voice, still somehow audible across the serried ranks of the horde.

"I ask but one thing: There is a Grim Reaper within, with red hair. He calls himself Grell Sutcliffe. Do _not_ kill this Reaper. He is mine. Subdue him if possible, but I want him _alive._" He smiled wickedly.

"My brothers-in-arms. Heaven awaits. _WILL YOU FOLLOW ME?!"_

Ten thousand voices answered him, roaring their oaths of allegiance as he waded through the congealing ocean of blood, towards the Gates of Heaven.

Simeon Lachis DeForte Caldair, Captain of the Eighth Brigade of the Guardians of Heaven, Angel of the Sepulchre, drummed his fingers on the parapet nervously. From his position high atop the great walls of Heaven, he could see the smoke rising from the Cyllembarine Road. Smoke on the Road could mean only one thing. It was not the first time Demons had attacked Heaven, and Caldair was an experienced commander, but something about this just seemed... wrong.

It wasn't anything the Angel could put his finger on, not at first. It was just a sensation, screaming deep within his soul that something was amiss. As the long minutes dragged by, Caldair became aware that he _could_ feel something. It was as if the very air around him was reverberating, shaking in time to an unholy rhythm, like the beating of a thousand thousand drums in the distance. Straining his eyes, he looked out over the plains, searching for the source of his fears.

_There!_ He thought. At the very edge of his vision, his keen eyes spotted a cloud of dust, rendered tiny by the distance. However, he knew from experience what kind of an army would be needed to create that kind of cloud. Hundreds of years ago, he had descended to Earth, and observed the Battle of Thermopylae. The Persian army had been vast that day, almost uncountable in any of the tongues of men, and yet it had not created such a cloud as the Demonic horde now approaching Heaven, which must surely number in the hundreds of thousands, if not the millions.

Simeon looked down, feeling a brief moment of vertigo despite his enormous pinions as he took in the hundred-foot drop below him. Surely, no demon could scale such mighty ramparts? Looking up again, he was shocked to see that the enemy were now much closer, having closed the gap with impossible speed. Peering into the dust, he could almost make out the individual faces of the Demons, and noted with horror the huge creatures amongst their ranks, more like living siege engines than actual soldiers.

Turning to face away from the approaching Demons, he drew his sword, the bright sunlight rippling off the flawless steel.

"Sound the alarm!" he cried to the Angels and Souls who made up his command. "Heaven is under attack!"

**AN:  
****Well, that sets the stage rather nicely, don't you think. Oh, and yes, Mr Simeon Lachis DeForte Caldair is the second of my "important" OC's... unless I decide to kill him off in the next chapter, in which case I'll have to make another Angel. Oh well... still, at least there's a juicy fantasy battle to look forward to next chapter. None of that "character development" rubbish... **


	9. The Fall Of Heaven's Gate

**AN:  
****Well, it's that time again. Let's see how the outnumbered garrison of Angels and Souls (a Soul, by the way, is someone who was a warrior in life, and has volunteered to help protect Heaven in death.) fares against Sebastian's mighty host of lesser Demons... Who knows, maybe the Bible-bashers will have to call on some other denominations for help... or maybe not, seeing as Kuro canon has Christianity down as the "one true religion" (or as I like to call it "Brainwashers Inc. C.33 AD - 2012 AD"). Anyway, enough with my hatred for religion. On with the show! (Keep those reviews coming in. Just don't end them with "Update." or I'll cry.) **

The plains of Cyllembar were black with Demons. Close to a million unholy warriors threw themselves at the walls of Heaven in a tidal wave of pure hatred, so intense it manifested itself in the mortal world as a rash of killing sprees and suicides. The four thousand Souls of Captain Caldair's Eighth Brigade, well-supplied and dug in atop the walls, poured fire down into the horde. Beautifully crafted rifles cracked constantly, sending out a hail of blessed silver bullets that burned demonic flesh, with the heavier _chug-chank chug-chank_ of wall-mounted light cannon providing a bass tone to the symphony of destruction.

The Angels that made up the Eighth's officer corps walked the walls behind the firing lines, calling out encouragement to their squads, occasionally rising up above the smoke on their beautiful wings to survey the battle from on high. What they saw chilled even their noble hearts.

In the first twenty minutes of what later became known in the annals of the Immortals as the Battle for Heaven's Gate, the Eighth Brigade was estimated to have destroyed over forty-five thousand lesser Demonic entities, suffering no casualties in return. The fire discipline of the Souls, combined with their elevation on the walls, turned the approach to Heaven's Gate into an enormous killing field. However, with so many bodies at his disposal, it was inevitable that Sebastian's forces would reach the walls. When that happened, the tide of battle turned abruptly.

Sebastian smiled as he saw the first of his demonic legion reach the base of the towering wall separating Heaven from the outside world. The warriors were quickly scythed down by the defenders' lethal fire, but even as they fell, dozens more arrived, then hundreds, then thousands. Soon, the foot of the wall was awash with Demons.

From atop a howdah perched on the back of the largest of the thirteen Grand Demons he had summoned to his cause, Sebastian ordered his forces to press the attack, merely thinking the command, and watching as the lesser Demons below him redoubled their efforts. Those already at the wall began to climb, scaling the vertical stones with diamond-hard claws and sheer brute strength.

Within minutes, hundreds of Demons began reaching the top of the wall. The withering storm of fire from the ramparts slowed as the defenders leaned over the battlements to fire on the climbers, or stab at hands and heads with swords and bayonets. The respite from the storm of gunfire allowed more of the army to reach the wall, and almost immediately the wall was all but covered with climbing Demons.

As the first warrior gained the battlements, grabbing a Soul by the leg and throwing him to the waiting horde below, Sebastian's face split over in a predatory grin. This would be over quickly...

Captain Caldair swept his sword through a howling Demon's torso and kicked the limp remains off the wall, before turning and shooting another between the eyes at point-blank range with his pistol. Black blood and brain matter splattered out from the back of the creature's shattered skull, as it collapsed to the cold stone of the battlements.

He heard a scream off to his left, and spun in time to see a pair of Demons leap onto an Angel, tearing at his pristine flesh with their claws and teeth. Caldair raised his pistol, snapping off several shots, but they went wide as the three combatants tumbled over the battlements, into the chaos below.

Suddenly, he found himself in a pocket of calm amongst the fighting. Looking around, he could see that his troops were in trouble. The enemy had gained several footholds along the wall, and more Demons were arriving at the top every second. With the exception of the Angels, the Army of Heaven was no match for the Demons at close quarters, and the Souls fighting so desperately on the walls were in serious danger of being overrun. They would not break, their unwavering faith making them all but fearless, but they would be cut down just the same.

With enough space to unfurl his wings, Caldair launched himself into the air, turning to see the remaining five hundred Souls of his Brigade that were held in reserve behind the walls. He swooped down towards them, making the transition from flying to walking the instant he landed. As he walked towards them, he could see the desperation etched on every face. Many of these men and women had already died once in circumstances similar to these, and now it seemed that fate had doomed them to repeat their ordeal. To all intents and purposes, an Immortal was just that: Immortal. However, they could still be killed in battle, and death in the afterlife was final, the total obliteration of the soul. Even Angels feared that fate.

The commander of his reserves was another Angel, Janizar Palpek. A tall, noble man with black hair, wielding a long spear, Palpek stepped out of the front rank to meet his commanding officer.

"Sir" he began in a low voice "what are we to do. The walls are all but lost, and we cannot hope to hold the Portal with a Half-Battalion. Are we to make a stand?"

There was a clear edge to his voice that suggested that a final stand in defence of the Golden Portal that marked the transition from Cyllembar to the realm of Heaven would be the most honourable course of action. Caldair sighed.

"Janizar" he said "we cannot afford to make a stand here. The Saints _must _be warned of this attack, _before _the enemy breaks through these walls. I need you to take your Souls through the Portal immediately. I will seal it behind you, and the rest of the Brigade and I will hold them off for as long as we can."

Palpek visibly coloured. "Retreat, sir?" he said, incredulously. "We are the Army of Heaven. We do not _retreat._ We should seal the Portal now and then stand and fight to the last. How can you even begin to conscience abandoning the wall, that has stood for..."

He was cut off as Caldair rounded on him. "_Janizar _Palpek" he said, clearly emphasising the other Angel's junior rank "I am your superior officer, and I have given you an _order. _We may be the Army of Heaven, but the Saints need to be warned. Am I going to have to repeat myself?"

Palpek sighed. "No, honoured Captain" he said. "But I will make one request. I wish to stay behind, and seal the Portal myself. You are a Captain, I am merely a Janizar. Protocol dictates that in times like these, the safety of as much of the command structure of the unit as possible is paramount. You _must _go."

Realising that Palpek was right, Caldair nodded. The Janizar was quoting Army regulations at him, and he had no argument in return, save for selfish notions of honour. Behind him came roars of triumph, as the last few Souls on the walls were butchered.

"Very well." He said. "Go with God, Janizar."

"And you also" replied Palpek, hefting his spear. "Now go. GO!"

Caldair set off towards the glowing portal at a run, the remaining Souls close behind him. As the cyclopean entrance to Heaven grew larger, he saw Palpek soar overhead, to land by the edge of the paved area in front of the Portal.

"Go!" Caldair urged his men, who sprinted through the Portal and vanished from sight. As Caldair himself reached the entrance, he stopped short and saluted Palpek with his bloodied sword. The Janizar returned the motion, and Caldair dived headlong into the golden glow. As he felt the warmth of Heaven surround him, he saw Palpek drive his spear into the portal, cutting off the link between Heaven and Cyllembar until the magic keeping the gates open was restored.

Janizar Palpek screamed with exertion as he recited the Litany of Unbinding, feeling the connection with Heaven come apart under the combined onslaught of his weapon and his prayers. Suddenly, it was done. With a decompressive boom, the Portal imploded, throwing Palpek to the ground.

Leaping to his feet, Palpek smiled. He had done his duty. All that remained now was a glorious death in battle. What more could any warrior ask for? With a roar of hatred spilling from his lips, Janizar Palpek charged the Demons spilling from the exits at the base of the wall and flooding into the small encampment of Heaven's Gate.

He hit the Demon battleline like a thunderbolt, striking left and right with his spear, impaling torsos and severing limbs. Enemies crowded around him, and he swung his weapon in a wide arc, opening a circle around himself. A screeching Demon with ice-white eyes leapt at him, and he swung the butt of his spear around in a lethal arc, crushing his assailant's skull. Swift as a snake, he reversed the blow, lashing out with the tip to transfix another opponent's chest.

Shaking the corpse off his blade, Palpek reached inside his uniform jacket with his free hand for his pistol. He drew it, and emptied the eight-shot cylinder into the packed mass of foes. Throwing the drained weapon into the crowd, he sent himself aloft with two beats of his wings. Angling himself downwards, he rocketed towards the centre of the host inside the walls like the embodiment of divine wrath that he was.

Hitting the ground with shocking force, Palpek blasted a crater several metres wide in the sea of flesh, landing on one knee amidst pulped corpses and pools of gore. His battle-honed instincts suddenly screamed a warning to him, and he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the sword which slammed down where he had been just heartbeats before.

Turning, he found himself face-to-face with what must surely have been the leader of this demonic army. Unlike the footsoldiers that served it, the creature was dressed in a fine black suit, and from its unbloodied swords did not look to have taken part in the battle so far. Around him, Palpek was aware of the other Demons forming a circle around himself and their master. The message was simple: there was to be a duel to the death.

Inwardly, the Janizar rejoiced, seeing an opportunity to end the demonic threat with one swift strike. If he could kill the leader, the Demon army would be directionless and easy prey for a strong counterattack from Heaven. Readying his spear, he nodded to his opponent. With a roar, both warriors charged, and the duel was begun.

Sebastian grinned as he parried an overhead slash, before lashing out with a cut from each of his swords simultaneously. The Angel swayed out of the way of one, and caught the other on the haft of his spear, spinning the long blade effortlessly to thrust at Sebastian's stomach.  
Without taking his eyes off his foe, the Demon turned the thrust aside with his left blade, sending a thrust of his own at the tall Angel's head.

Palpek ducked the blade as it lanced towards his head, then kicked at the Demon's left knee with his right boot. The blow connected well, and Sebastian was forced to stagger back a pace. The Janizar used the opening to leap into the air, unfurling his wings as he did so. Within seconds, he was out of his opponent's reach, poised for another diving attack. Readying his spear, he began to descend, rapidly gathering speed. Suddenly, he noticed that the Demon no longer held its swords...

As soon as the Angel took wing, Sebastian had known what it intended to do. Dropping his swords, he drew his pistols with a speed that put every gunslinger in the world to shame. As the Angel began his dive, he raised the weapons and opened fire.

Palpek saw the Demon open fire, and twisted in the air to avoid the bullets. However, Sebastian shifted his aim expertly, and continued to spray seemingly never-ending trails of fire into the air. Hundreds of rounds pumped into the sky in seconds, and it was inevitable that some would eventually find their target.

Janizar Palpek screamed in agony as the first shots hit him. Two clipped his right leg, sending him spinning out of control towards the ground, as three more rounds punched through his ribcage, embedding themselves in his right lung. A final bullet caught him directly in the stomach, tearing through his guts before blasting a fist-sized chunk of his spine out through the gaping exit wound in his back.

Suddenly paralyzed from the waist down, the Angel dropped like a stone, pulled by the deadweight of his useless legs. He smashed into the ground, and crumpled like a rag doll. Smiling at his handiwork, Sebastian holstered his smoking pistols, and knelt to pick up his blades. Sheathing them in one smooth motion, he walked over to where the fallen Angel lay.

Weakly, Palpek lifted his head as he heard Sebastian's footsteps draw near. Slowly, the Demon's smiling face drew nearer, until it seemed to fill his entire field of vision.

Sebastian crouched beside his defeated foe, and cradled the Angel's head in his hands.

"_You see"_ he said _"Your silly little cult cannot hope to withstand the evil that I have unleashed today."_ He gestured at the devastation all around him. _"This is but a taste of the vengeance I will unleash against Heaven. Be thankful that you will not live to see the rape of your so-called Kingdom of Light. I have granted you that mercy, at least."_

Sebastian stood, and gestured to his Demonic minions. As one, they turned, and began to march towards the collapsed Portal, taking up defensive positions around the plaza. He turned back towards the dying Palpek.

"_Sleep, little Angel." _He said, bringing a boot crashing down on Palpek's skull, extinguishing the flickering light of life that still lingered there. The last Angel in Heaven's Gate died broken, battered, and bleeding, beneath the boot of a Demonic Lord more powerful that any could imagine...

**AN:  
****Well, that ran on for a little longer than expected. What can I say? I enjoy my battle scenes. All in all, I don't think this has come out too badly, considering as it's now 3am. In case you were wondering (you probably weren't), Caldair's title of "Captain" is roughly equivalent to a modern Colonel or Lieutenant Colonel, and Janizar Palpek is (was) more of a traditional "Line Captain". Now you know. Well, hopefully you enjoyed this injection of murder and mayhem into what was previously a perfectly normal crack bandfic.** **I think I may have either improved the story quite a bit with these last two chapters, or killed the fic entirely. Let me know, m'kay? Oh, and did any of you get the Devil May Cry reference? If not, I might have to start making them a little more obvious... Hope you enjoyed it, and I would appreciate you, yes, you airing your thoughts on whether the next chapter should go back to the band, stay with the war, or have a bit of both. You stay classy, FanFiction. (And if you didn't get that one, you should probably rethink your life somewhat...) **


	10. Chapter Nine And A Bit (Interlude)

**FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS CHAPTER. IT HAS NO BEARING ON THE STORY WHASTOEVER, AND IS LITERALLY AN EXTENDED AUTHOR'S NOTE TO CLEAR UP SOME UNCERTAINTIES. SORRY FOR WASTING YOUR TIME. **

**AN:****  
Well, I'm going to take a time out before I crack on with writing Chapter 10 to chat with the small group of lovely people who read and review my scribblings. I honestly have no idea how the next chapter is going to pay out, or even who it's going to feature, although I think the guys in the (as yet unnamed) band are going to be feeling a bit left out, what with all this loving on Sea-Bass, so they might get a look in.**

**In answer to Ophelia's comments, this is **_**CRACK FICTION**_**. Say it with me. C.R.A.C.K. Do you go round looking for yaoi and reviewing with "good, but I find it highly unlikely that Sebastian would get the living shit fucked out of him by Pluto in a ruined church"? (Plugging my own yaoi there, folks. I'm not self-centred at all...) **

**On a related note, this line made me chuckle somewhat: "****it's HIGHLY unlikely that Ciel will even listen to punk death dark titanium metal or whatever you call it, much less enjoy it." I'd love to hear titanium metal. I imagine it would be some kind of uber-power metal, like Dragonforce on steroids. Just to avoid confusion, the band that Ciel was listening to in the car, Cerebral Bore, are brutal death metal (BDM), and judging from Ciel's vocal performance back in chapter fuck-knows-what, our intrepid hero and his new buddies are going to be playing straight-up death metal (unless I can somehow work him learning how to do decent pig squeals into a future chapter, in which case they're likely to shift towards slam death metal or 06-era deathcore). **

**Whilst I am fully aware that you will probably tut, shake your head and say "it's all just noise made by talentless, angry young people", I'm not overly bothered. I do, however wonder what you expected when you saw in the summary "a healthy dose of HEAVY F****N' METAL". Iron Maiden, perhaps? Sorry to disappoint, but it's just easier to call it all metal than delve into the myriad -metal and -core suffix subgenres. I'm writing a fun fic that blends a show I enjoy with the music I love. Kindly do not fuck with the enormous amounts of willing suspension of disbelief that are floating around here.**

**Anyway, enough ranting. Because I actually have no idea what to call the band, I'm going to chuck it over to you, by beloved reviewers. (Yes, even you Ophelia. You took time out of your day to comment, and I respect that.) Also, because Captain Caldair is in danger of turning into a woobie, I'm planning to start an "adopt an Angel" scheme to provide him with some much-needed love. **

**Sorry for darkening your doors with this, but I felt that some issues needed to be addressed, and I despise the PM system on the site. I *promise* you, it won't happen again. **

**All my love,  
Kissing Daisy**


	11. Council Of War

**AN:  
****Sorry for the wait, I took a break to watch Kuro Season 2, because a certain gay blond someone might just be joining the cast...****  
****Well, after my little rant, I don't think that there's much more to say. Let the story resume!**

Captain Caldair strode purposefully along the marble corridors that led to the Hall of Triumph, his honour guard of Souls close behind him. Buried deep in the heart of the vast citadel that housed the majority of Heaven's population, the Hall was a huge, colonnaded chamber in which hung the banners of Heaven's greatest heroes, along with trophies taken in the eternal war against the denizens of Hell. It was where the Saints, the greatest amongst the Angels, and the grand generals of the Army of Heaven, held court, passing judgement on all things military.

As Caldair reached the grand doors, the two white-cloaked Souls on guard duty moved to bar his way with their long polearms.

"State your name and business" boomed the tallest of the pair.

The Captain held up his writ, the paper seal of office that had been given to him when he took command of the Eighth Brigade.

"Captain Caldair, officer commanding Eighth Brigade, with an urgent report for the Council."

The Soul took the paper, and passed it to his comrade for inspection, never once taking his eyes off Caldair. After a few moments, the second guard nodded, and handed the writ back to the Angel.

"Pass, friend" he said, and the two Souls stepped aside. As Caldair moved closer to the entrance, the doors swung inwards of their own accord, revealing a wondrous world of beautiful white stone.

The walls were covered in fantastically detailed tapestries depicting the wondrous deeds of the Army of Heaven. He saw the Battle for Cyl Plain, where Saint Michael had led the Fifth and Sixth Brigades against an army of Demons ten times their number, and emerged victorious, the Trial of St Luke, in which the Saint had slain Mutharkk, the greatest Demon to threaten Heaven in a thousand years, as reckoned by the strange timespan of the Immortals, and the Triumph of Quintus, the legendary victory that had occurred when a humble Soul had taken command of the battered Second Brigade after Captain Norobius had been killed by a Grand Demon.

Moving further along the hallway, he saw the Twelve Thrones of Judgement, where the Saints Council sat in times of crisis to debate and determine the best course of action. Currently, only three of the seats were occupied. Saint Ganelon sat on the far left, grim and brooding in his dark hooded robes. Closer to the grand throne at the centre were Saint Christopher, resplendent in his full battle armour of gold and black, and Saint Luke, who wore a sober suit of dark grey.

Caldair approached the long table that sat before the thrones, before stopping and bowing at the regulation ten paces. Outwardly he was calm, but he was greatly dismayed by the number of empty seats. _Where are the others? _He wondered. _Have they not realised that the Portal has been collapsed and that the largest host of Demons to threaten Heaven in millennia is almost at our gates?_

The Saints looked up as one. Caldair found himself staring into the beatific visage of Saint Christopher, who inclined his head questioningly.

"Ah, Captain Caldair" he said, in a smooth, strong voice. "Have you come to explain why the Golden Portal has been closed, and in such a destructive manner that it will take many days to restore?"

"I have, your Holiness" replied the Captain. "Not twelve hours ago, I personally sighted a Demonic army of such magnitude as to seriously threaten the security of Heaven. Naturally, I immediately sent a Soul back through the Portal to report this, and prepared to defend the Wall."

Saint Luke looked along the length of the table at Saint Ganelon, who shook his head. "We received no such message" he said. "But please continue, Captain. Messages have been lost before. I presume by your presence that you and your Brigade saw the enemy off in good order?"

Caldair shook his head sadly. "It is with the greatest regret that I must inform you that Heaven's Gate has fallen."

Shocked gasps rang out amongst the Saints. "But... how?" asked Saint Christopher. "What of your troops?"

"The Eighth Brigade has been all but destroyed" said Caldair, his voice wavering with emotion. "Only myself and a Half-Battalion of Souls survived. We were able to escape through the Portal before one of my officers, Janizar Palpek, was able to seal it against the Demons."

The air was suddenly electric with tension and fear. There was a long silence, then Saint Luke spoke for the first time, in a hoarse voice that was barely more than a whisper.

"Summon the Archangel. Summon him now!"

Flanked by two huge piles of dead meat, Sebastian lounged idly in a throne made from the fused bones of dead Souls as he watched his strongest Demon-Sorcerers struggle to lever open the sealed Portal with the unholy power of their minds. The process was slow, and progress had been minimal thus far. Sebastian was quickly growing bored of waiting, and console himself with the thought of how that damnable Grim Reaper would look, staked out naked and helpless, awaiting his merciless fate.

He leant over, and pulled a severed arm off one of the piles. Judging by the virginal white of the skin, it had come from an Angel. Lifting it to his mouth, he sunk his sharp teeth into the limb, and tore off a large chunk of flesh. He chewed slowly, letting the flavour flow through him. It was _good_. The meat tasted of strength, glory, _victory. _

Throwing the arm aside, Sebastian stood, and stepped away from his throne. He walked towards the Portal, revelling in the feeling of power as lesser Demons cowered in fear as he passed. Striding up to where the sorcerers were working, he beckoned to the leader, Hashtrakh. The Demon limped towards Sebastian, one leg twisted and lame.

"My lord?" he growled questioningly.

"Redouble your efforts" said Sebastian, looming over his minion. "I want that Portal open before nightfall."

Hashtrakh bowed. "Yes, my lord."

**AN:  
****And there's a nice little dramatic scene for you. Once again, sorry for the delay. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter done for tomorrow.**


	12. Identity Crisis

**AN:  
****Dear me, is it that time again? Dashing off another caffeine-fuelled chapter at two in the morning, despite knowing full well that I'm going to seriously regret it by eleven. The things I do for you... I deserve a fucking medal... Anyway, I've realised that this story has become less of a bandfic and more of an Abnett-esque bloodbath. So here, as requested, is a (mostly) Ciel-centric chapter. Maybe the band will finally get a fucking name... (Please note, any of "the band's" songs are most likely going to be songs that I've written for one or more of my ongoing musical projects, so... yeah. Apart from that, all other songs belong to the bands that wrote them. Although it seems painfully obvious, I OWN NOTHING, PEOPLE. NOTHING...) To put this chapter in perspective, this is about half an hour after Ciel decided to throw his lot in with the band. Also, Pete appears to have gone home. (I don't know, I'm just the author. Continuity is the fanbase's problem.)**

Unaware of the full-scale war being waged by beings of impossible power only one dimension over from theirs, the five bandmates convened their own council of war. Although Carl's sitting room made for a decidedly less impressive setting, the matters they were discussing were no less important to them than any of the events taking place in Heaven at that time.

"Right then" said Fabian. "First things first, we need a name."

"We've already got a name" said Carl, confused. "We're Lustryated, remember?"

"No" replied Fabian. "Lustryated was us and Pete. You heard Ciel's voice. It's completely different. Pete did black metal screeching, like Dani from Cradle of Filth. Ciel sounds more like a death metal growler, like what's-his-face from Krepuskul"

"You mean Marcel Rusu?" chipped in Jack from the couch.

"Nah, he's one of the guitarists" replied Carl. "Andu Anches does vocals. You know, the bass player? Big fucker, got long hair and a little beard."

"_Anyway_" said Fabian, forcefully. "Getting back to the point. We can't keep playing the same music if our new vocalist sounds completely different from our old one. I think we should make a fresh start. That means we need a new name. Ideas?"

"Well..." Jack mused. "It would help to know what kind of stuff we're going to be playing. You know, so the name can reflect the music, all that kind of shit..."

"Good point" said Carl. "Any thoughts, Ciel? After all, you'll be up front for all this."

Ciel thought for a moment. He hadn't counted on being asked to help make decisions like this, and felt decidedly out of his depth.

"I don't mind, really" he said, after a short pause. "I mean, you guys have got more experience than me, so if you tell me what you want me to do, I'll try and do it. Besides, I don't know much about... all this."

Fabian clapped his arm around Ciel's shoulder. "No worries, kiddo. You've got a good raw voice, and I reckon you could do pretty much anything with it, with practice." He looked at the other band members. "I think it should definitely be something in the realms of death metal, which leaves us plenty of room. Maybe tech-death?"

Sy barked out a short laugh. "Fock tha' noise" he said. "None of us' ken play shit like tha', an' youse know it. Sure, we're guid, but we're no' fockin' magicians."

"Fair point" conceded Fabian.

"How about melodeath?" said Carl. "That's easy enough to do."

"Too many shitty melodeath bands around" answered Jack. "We'd never stand out."

"Death-doom?" suggested Sy.

Carl shook his head. "The scene isn't big enough. We'd be playing to a packed house of nobody if we tried that."

Fabian looked at Ciel thoughtfully. "Ever tried pig-squealing?" he asked.

"What?" said Ciel, confused.

"Pig squealing" repeated Fabian. "You know, inhaling and going _BREEE BREEE BREEE_?"

"How the fuck does that work?" asked Ciel.

"Basically" began Fabian, but Carl cut him off.

"You suck at explaining things. Basically, Ciel, you curl your tongue so the tip is on the roof of your mouth, breath in, and at the same time make a sound like _BREEE_. If you do it right, it'll sound like a dying pig. Give it a try."

"Okay" said Ciel. He took a deep breath, trying to form the right shape with his tongue and throat. What came out was a strangled squawk, more like a startled crow than a dying pig.

"Its okay" said Carl sympathetically. "Try using the back of your throat more."

Ciel nodded, and tried again. This time, everything just seemed to be _right_. The sound ripped out of him, and did indeed sound like a pig being messily slaughtered. The band cheered, and Carl slapped him on the back.

"Sick, man! Okay guys, I think that's our genre sorted. Everyone good with slam death metal?"

The rest of the group nodded their assent. Sy in particular looked pleased.

"Ah'm ganna need a noo double bass pedal, thein." He smiled.

"Awesome" said Fabian. "Right then, now we know what we're going to be playing, we can come up with a name. Anybody?"

"Well..." said Jack. "Normally bands like that have kinda gruesome names, like Foetal Juice and stuff... Maybe something like... Tearing The Womb?"

There were some nods around the room, but Carl looked unconvinced. "I think that's taken" he said. "How about Bathing In Gore?"

"That's more like an album title" said Fabian. "What about... Brutalisis?"

"Yeah" said Jack. "That's cool."

"I agree" said Carl.

"Ah dinnae mind really" shrugged Sy.

"What about you, Ciel?" asked Fabian.

Ciel had been thinking hard throughout the discussion. After a long pause, he spoke. "Why do we have to be like everyone else out there? All those names are just... unsubtle. Wouldn't it be better if we had a name that wasn't something disgusting, so that it would be more shocking when we played... I don't know..." he tailed off when he realised that everyone in the room was staring at him.

"Holy shit" said Carl. "Where the fuck did you find this kid? That's a quality idea. Any ideas, Ciel?"

"Ummm..." said Ciel. He thought hard, dredging up names and ideas from throughout his life. _Madame Red? No, too weak. Grim Reaper? Too obvious. He had to look harder, deep down into his soul... deep down... deep down... That was it._

"Deep Down."

"Ladies and Gentlemen" said Jack, breaking the silence. "We have a winner."

The Golden Portal to Heaven flashed in a kaleidoscopic whirlwind of unnameable colours as Hashtrakh and his sorcerers bombarded it with their strongest magicks. They worked with a desperate haste born of fear, for Sebastian had promised them a truly horrific fate if they failed him.

Despite their relentless assault, the Portal remained impregnable, for it had been designed with just such an eventuality in mind. Half-mad with terror, Hashtrakh sent a psychic lance of pure, unbridled hate directly at the gate. To his shock and elation, he felt something give. It was only the tiniest of chinks in the otherwise impenetrable barrier, but it was _progress_.

"Summon Lord Sebastian" he growled to one of his sorcerers. "The rest of you, keep pushing. The gate is starting to fail. Soon we will be through..."

**AN:  
****I fucking hate writing dialogue... But at least the band has a name, and a genre. For those of you wondering what slam death metal is, check out a song called Welcome To Sludge City by Annotations Of An Autopsy. WARNING! The lyrics (and everything else about the song) are NOT for the squeamish or faint of heart. Don't say I didn't warn you... Anyway, there's your Ciel fix for today. Not sure what the next chapter's going to be on. Oh, and Deep Down is actually the name of one of my little side projects. I need a guitarist and a bass player who live in or near Lincoln (UK), on the (incredibly slim) chance that anyone's interested. I'll see you around...**


	13. Ready For War

**AN:  
****So, the band has a name, and the Gateway to Heaven is about to get severely opened... I wonder who deserves the metaphorical screen-time more? Ciel and the merry men of Deep Down, or the sheer unholy force of Sebastian and his Legion of Darkness? Well, let's look at it in terms of what the respective groups will do to me if I **_**don't **_**give them priority (yes, I'm being held hostage by figments of my own and someone else's imagination. Why? Because fuck you, that's why!). I imagine that Sea-Bass-Chan and the Demon Horde of Doom will go with some variation on the angry-buttsex-with-Satan-for-all-eternity motif, which I've got to admit is pretty damn scary. Compared to that, what have our plucky musicians got? Nothing! Nothing at a- **_**oh shit... they could make BAD MUSIC... **_**Sorry Bassy... they've got you beat there... Let the musical mayhem resume!**

Silence descended on the small sitting-room once more. As one, the band members stared at Ciel and Jack. At last, Carl opened his mouth.

"It's cool, but what does it mean?"

"Does it have to mean anything?" replied Ciel. "I thought it just had to sound cool."

Carl looked ready to argue the point, but to Ciel's amazement, Sy spoke up in his defence.

"Kid's right. The name dinnae have tae mean owt. Look a' Metallica. Dinnae mean a thing."

"Fair enough" said Carl. "But wouldn't it help... I mean, if we had a name... people could understand... better..." His voice tailed off lamely as he realised he was arguing for a lost cause. "Whatever" he sighed. "I just hope this won't come back to bite us on the arse..."

"It won't" replied Fabian in a confident voice. "You'll see." He turned to the rest of the group. "Well then. I guess we should start writing some new material, and maybe come up with a design for the logo?"

The band members all nodded enthusiastically, with the exception of Ciel.

"I'm not sure if I can write good lyrics. I mean, I don't even know where to start."

"That doesn't matter" said Carl kindly. "Most of the time, people won't be able to tell what you're saying anyway. If you want, we can put the song together first, and you can just do BREEE BREEE vocals for the time being. We can add actual lyrics once we know what the song is going to sound like."

"Sounds good" replied Ciel. "So where do we start?"

"Well" answered Carl. "Basically, everyone will go away and start writing their own parts. Fabian and I will do guitar lines together, Sy's going to fuck off home to his kit, and Jack is probably going to get stoned and see if he can remember how to play his bass. This just leaves you... I know, you can come help me and Fabian."

"Sounds like a plan" said Ciel.

All along the Heavenward side of the Golden Portal, the Grand Army of Heaven was digging in. Teams of Soul sappers blasted, hacked and dug deep slit trenches in the marble tiles of the Plaza of Arrivals, and erected barricades behind them, sighting machine-gun nests and strongpoints with a speed that would put any human engineers to shame.

As each section of the defences was completed, units of Souls moved swiftly into place to man it. The Council was taking no chances, and had deployed all twelve Brigades, including the newly-renamed Eighth Volunteer Brigade, now made up of residents of Heaven who had offered their services in the coming fight. All along the line, blessed standards were raised, and weapons were anointed with sacred oils.

Within four hours of Captain Caldair's report to the Council, the entire military might of Heaven was entrenched in heavily-fortified positions facing the Golden Portal. The Angels charged with maintaining the Portal reported that the magicks sealing it shut were crumbling rapidly, and gave estimates that it would be open within an hour, at best.

So serious was the situation that the entire Council was present, each a shining paragon of martial virtue at the head of one of the Brigades. Yet it was not to these eternal lords that the eye was drawn, for a far greater power walked the field that day. Towering over even the Saints stood The First, The Regent of Heaven, the Left Hand of God Almighty, the Archangel Gabriel.

Clad in full battleplate of purest steel that had been polished to a mirror sheen, details lovingly picked out in gold and lapis lazuli, he stood at the head of the elite First Brigade, next to Saint Peter. In his hand was the holy sword Katheiris, with which he had slain the Demonic Palatine of Nech'karr, the very blade which the Almighty Himself had once wielded against the Arch-Enemy. The warm sunlight of Heaven glinted off the long blade, and imbued the great sapphire in its pommel with a blue deeper than any ocean. Come what may, the Army of Heaven was ready.

**(****AN:**** Do you have **_**any **_**idea how tempted I am to use Gandalf's line from the Return of the King right now? You know the one: "Soldiers of Minas Tirith, no matter what comes through that gate, you will stand your ground!" *Cue the Mordor Trolls (Grand Demons)*)**

On the other side of the Portal, on the bloodied ground of Cyllembar, stood Sebastian at the head of his gargantuan host. Behind him were ranged the thirteen Grand Demons he had bound to his will, ready to lead the charge once the Portal was opened.

Of the Sorcerers he had originally charged with opening the gateway, only Hashtrakh now survived. The desiccated husks of his fellows lay at his feet, having been drained of their life energies in order to fuel spells of increasing magnitude and damnation. Slowly but surely, the Golden Portal was being forced open like a violated orifice, quivering at the malevolent touch of the Demon's unholy power. **(****AN: ****Rape scene foreshadowing, anyone?)** Soon it would give way completely, and when that happened, Heaven's doom was assured...

**AN: ****(Once again.) Sorry for the interruptions, but I got bored. I haven't slept since I wrote the last chapter, so you'll forgive me if I've rambled at all... I reckon we should get to the nice big juicy fight sometime in the next... oooh... ten chapters? Nah, just fucking with you. It should happen in the next two. On an unrelated note, how would you like to do a Q&A session with the cast of "The Lesser Of Two Evils"? Send in your questions, and watch as they are mysteriously answered... (Well, maybe.) Love you all!**


	14. At Least I'm Good At What I Do

**AN:****  
You know what? Fuck it. Time to start throwing some (dead) Christians to the (metaphorical) lions. *Sigh" Makes you miss the Romans that much more... They really knew how to deal with religious extremists... (Yes, I **_**know **_**that's ironic. Really, I do.) Let the games begin!**

The Golden Portal groaned as Hashtrakh's mind began pulling it open further and further. As it was forcibly wrenched apart, the semi-sentient magical gateway wailed in pain, the sound scraping down the collective spines of the waiting armies like a million claws on a million chalkboards. All along the line, the Souls of the Army of Heaven shivered, recognising and fearing the imminent slaughter that the sounds heralded. Their officers walked amongst them, preaching sermons of honour and courage, but the troops were still scared.

Sebastian laughed as the Portal screamed. It was the death-knell of an enemy that had stood for far too long, but soon he, Sebastian Michaelis, greatest of the Demons, would stand triumphant amongst its charred ruins. He threw back his head and laughed maniacally, shoulders shaking in horrifying mirth. Not noticing or caring that his closest inferiors had begun to back away from him, he stepped from his meat-throne, and strode to the head of his army.

Before him, his vast legions stood in serried ranks, awaiting the order that would unleash them in an orgy of bloodshed and violence; an order that Sebastian would be only too pleased to give. At the front waited the thirteen Grand Demons, living battering-rams that existed for the sole purpose of serving as shock troops in the armies of Hell. Behind them were the rank-and-file, the lesser Demons that made up the bulk of Sebastian's force. They were uniformly muscular beings, with glistening red skin, clutching heavy swords of hellforged iron, but their group similarities ended there. There were bipeds, quadrupeds, even a few tri- and quintipeds. Some were bi- or even tricephalic, and the number of arms seemed to be largely down to the owner's discretion. They were a motley collection of fiends, dredged from the darkest depths of Hell, but they would do. _They would do..._

_They would do... _In the alternate dimension populated by humans, another motley collection of fiends had gathered, after two days of hard brainstorming and creativity. The members of Deep Down congregated once more in Carl's sitting room, their base camp for the time being, with various devices filled with rough recordings of their efforts.

For Ciel, it had been two days of bewildering guitar jargon, baffling pieces of equipment, and mysterious lengths of heavy-duty cabling. By the end of the first evening, Ciel had begun to worry seriously about his career choice, and voiced his concerns to Fabian and Carl. The pair had laughed, and comforted him with platitudes such as "it'll all turn out fine" and "you'll get over it", before turning back to their talk of "drop-tuning" and "tremolo picking". However, unsurprisingly, the rookie vocalist was still nervous.

Sitting in Carl's house once more, Ciel listened as the fruits of the other members' labour were revealed. Sy went first, plugging in a battered-looking CD-player. A slow bass beat began to fill the room, gradually quickening into a thunderous double-pedal roll, swelling with the addition of the toms and cymbals into an apocalyptic wall of sound. The brutal percussive attack continued for some five minutes, before tailing off into a quieter outro. As the band shook their heads in an attempt to clear the ringing in their ears, Sy looked around questioningly.

"Whadda'ye reckon?" he asked.

"Good" said Fabian. "I assume you did some more?"

"Aye" replied the drummer. "Five more."

"Awesome. Why don't you go next, Jack?" said Carl.

The bass player shrugged.

"Okay. There's not much to show, really. It's bass. It mostly depends on what you guys play. Although, I did write..."

He was cut off by yells of abuse from his bandmates.

"Jack" said Fabian. "I swear by all that's unholy, if the next words out of your mouth are _a bass solo_, I'm going to take you outside and beat you to death with your own instrument."

Jack bristled.

"Hey, fuck you Fabian. You're just jealous because you never get solos."

"That's because I play rhythm, fuck-knuckle" retorted the guitarist.

Jack grinned evilly.

"Well maybe if you could play better..."

Fabian went purple.

"You fucking _cunt_!" he yelled, diving across the room and laying into his bandmate. "_At. Least. I. Play. A. Proper. Instrument!" _he screamed, punctuating his words with blows.

"At least I don't suck at what I do" spat Jack, lashing out with a fist and catching Fabian squarely in the face, throwing him back off him. Carl quickly jumped in, and dragged Fabian back, much to the disappointment of Sy, who had been merrily cheering the two combatants on.

"_Enough_, you two" he said, firmly. "I swear, you're like a pair of fucking kids..." He released Fabian, who glowered at Jack through his rapidly-rising black eye. However, neither seemed inclined to continue the fight, and Carl hastily changed the subject, hoping to avoid further bloodshed.

"Moving right along" he said. "This is one of the guitar lines Fabian and I came up with." He picked up a small black remote from the couch beside him, and pointed it to the corner of the room. An expensive-looking stereo system, so far the only thing Ciel had seen in the house that wasn't in a state of disrepair, clicked on.

Instantly, a chunky, quick-tempo riff began blasting out of the speakers. Initially, both Carl and Fabian played the same parts, but the two guitarists soon diverged, Carl's playing becoming more and more intricate whilst Fabian settled into a heavier, chugging beat underneath. After a few minutes, Fabian stopped playing, and Carl launched into a shrieking solo laced with feedback and distortion. As the solo reached its final banshee wail, the music slowly faded out.

Ciel found himself on his feet, stirred to passion by the display of skill he had witnessed.

"That was... that was... _Fucking awesome!_" he cried. Carl smiled broadly, as did Fabian, who seemed to have forgotten his earlier anger.

"Thanks, man" said Fabian.

"Yeah" added Carl. "Now there are only two things left to do. We need to put this all together into one track, and _you_ need to get working on some lyrics."

Ciel smiled. "I'm on it" he said, with a confidence he only wished he felt inside.

**AN:  
****I've got to ask, is my continued putting-off of the big gory battle scene getting annoying? If so, tough shit. Besides, the wait is near as dammit over. Soon, my pretties, soon... (That was creepier than I intended it to be.) Well, at least the band are getting stuff done... Does it show that I am a vocalist/drummer with absolutely zero idea of how guitars work? Thought so. The tension between Fabian and Jack looks worrying though... (Ah, who am I kidding? Tension between the bass and rhythm players? They're just competing for the "most under-appreciated" slot. I should probably be more worried that the drummer is some kind of sociopath...) Apologies for the random update time, but I had things to do that actually earn me money... Later, good people.**


	15. Endzeit

**AN:****  
In the words of the (I choose to believe) immortal Gaz: "Let's do this..."**

It is an undeniable fact of unnatural physics that when a trans-dimensional entity such as the Golden Portal is subjected to intense and repeated psychomanipulation, it will eventually reach what is known as "snapping point". The exact events which occur when this point is reached vary from entity to entity, but all take the form of a massive release of vorpal energies into one or both of the dimensions which the entity bridges. Usually, this will happen as some kind of apocalyptic blast, which is fully capable of destroying entire cities in a nanosecond.

Fortunately for the combatants both in and outside of Heaven, the Golden Portal is, or was, an exceptionally stable bridge. This meant that the release of energy was greatly reduced, thanks to previously hidden venting systems, which spewed energies into dozens of dimensions simultaneously, greatly lessening the force of the blast. Whilst this saved both armies from total destruction, the immediate vicinity of the Golden Portal was still a thoroughly unhealthy place to be...

Sebastian giggled insanely as he stepped over the pile of ash that had just seconds before been Hashtrakh. Blinking away the afterglare in his burning eyes, he saw that the Golden Portal had broken free of its mighty arch, and now stood alone as a roiling, uncontrollable eye of purple energy. To his demonic senses, it was like a beacon welcoming his glorious army into Heaven.

Swiftly, he sent a simple command into the minds of every single Demon in his force: _Follow._ With a bestial roar, he charged the Portal, followed by the thirteen Grand Demons, and the massed legions of lesser Demons.

On the other side of the Portal, the Army of Heaven came alive as the tell-tale pulsing of the ethereal gateway heralded the arrival of their foes. Rifles were cocked, bayonets fixed and machine-gunners fed belts of blessed rounds into hungry receivers. Officers drew pistols and swords, and the Saints took their positions with the Captains of their Brigades. Seconds seemed to drag into years as the pulsing became stronger, and the first blurry outlines began to appear in the Portal.

With an unholy screech and a gout of purple flame, the frontrunners of Sebastian's army were vomited forth into Heaven. First to appear were the Grand Demons, with Sebastian riding atop the largest, and then the uncountable footsoldiers began to appear. Angels bellowed the command, and the entire Army of Heaven opened fire simultaneously.

In the first five seconds of the Battle of Heaven, four Grand Demons were killed outright. One took the equivalent of a full Battalion's volley to the head, and simply disintegrated from the shoulders up. Another was kneecapped by machine-gun fire, and trampled beneath the hooves and claws of those who followed it. The final two were literally torn apart by the sheer weight of fire, pierced by thousands of shots each. However, that still left nine to kill, along with the rest of the horde.

As the command to fire at will was issued, the rest of the Grand Demons began to fall. All but two were hit so many times that even their unnatural toughness could not protect them, or fell to lucky shots that pierced eyes or hearts. Sebastian's mount was among the slain, and the Demonic lord screeched in annoyance as he was pitched to the ground.

As the final two Grand Demons neared the Heavenly line, every single weapon turned on them. One died instantly, and fell to the ground in pieces, whilst the other, bleeding from hundreds of wounds, managed to make it to the edge of the trenches before a stray round blew its head off in a shower of gore and brain matter. The defenders cheered as it fell, but were silenced almost instantly when they realised that they had been trapped. The Grand Demons had never been meant to reach their line, but merely to draw their fire so that the rest of the army could close unmolested. A ragged volley cracked across the rapidly-closing gap, and the front ranks of the horde shuddered and fell, but those behind them merely increased their pace.

Machine-guns scythed down hundreds more in the final few seconds before the two armies met, but it was too little, too late. The Demons reached the trenches in a screaming red wave, over three million strong, and set about butchering the Souls that stood against them. Amongst the slaughter, Sebastian screamed his triumph to the skies. Soon, Heaven would fall, and Grell Sutcliffe would be his...

Ciel Phantomhive cradled his head in his hands and sighed. It seemed like he was going round in circles. Try as he might, he just couldn't think of _anything_ worth writing about. He had thought about all the "usual" ideas that Fabian and Carl had suggested, like mutilating corpses or worshipping the Devil, and they all seemed too... _mundane_...somehow. If he was going to write a song, he wanted it to have meaning, and to be relevant to him. Suddenly, a thought struck him. _What about the reason I'm here in the first place... a contract... a broken contract..._

He began to scribble furiously, and the first lines soon appeared:

_What has it come to  
When you can't trust your fucking master?  
And where will it end?  
Looks like a total fucking disaster_

_A contract broken  
You'll hunt him now 'til the end of time  
Until the end comes  
He'll disappear without a fucking sign_

_When they look at his remains  
The shattered skull, the broken bones  
Wherein the spirit was contained  
No-one will know what happened  
No-one will know  
The Butler did it... _

**AN:  
****Just to let you know, those lyrics are MINE! ALL MINE! I'm watching you sneaky fuckers... On a related note, I don't understand this site's obsession with having disclaimers for **_**everything**_**. I mean, it's not like J.K. Rowling or whoever is going to come on here and personally threaten to sue every single person who writes Harry Potter fics for using her intellectual property, is it? You don't need to tell people that you don't own anything that you are writing about, if you did then you would be writing canon, not fanfiction... think about it before slapping huge disclaimers on everything... On an unrelated note, we finally got to the start of the big-ass battle. Hope it was worth the wait! See you next chapter...**


	16. Hiatus Announcement (Interlude II)

**IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:**

**As I am working 12-hour shifts until the 3****rd**** of November, this story is officially "going on hiatus" (If you're in a band, you'll know how useful that phrase is, if you follow small bands obsessively, you'll know how annoying it is). Therefore, there **_**may**_** be updates during this time, but don't expect 10-12 new chapters to go up over the next two weeks. Sorry, but when I'm actually getting paid... I hope you all understand, and choose to stay with this story (which requires literally no effort on your part... it's actually easier than **_**not**_** staying with the story...) whenever it returns.**

**Kissing Daisy**


	17. This Is The End

**AN:****  
This chapter, and indeed the rest of this fic, is dedicated to Mitch Lucker, who tragically passed away at 6.51 AM on Thursday 1****st**** November 2012 in Huntington Beach, California, of injuries sustained in a motorcycle crash. For those of you that don't know, Mitch was the vocalist for the deathcore band Suicide Silence. He was one of the most talented vocalists in the genre, and indeed in any genre, and brought deathcore to wider public attention almost single-handedly. He died aged 28, and leaves behind him a 6-year-old daughter. When I heard the news, it was easily the biggest kick in the balls I've had all year. Suicide Silence have been one of my top 3 bands for about 2 years now, mainly because of Mitch's insane vocals and awesome stage presence, and to think that I'll never get to see them live, or listen to a new song from them ever again... It physically hurts. Although I was not fortunate enough to have met Mitch during his time on the Earth, watching interviews with him and hearing the testimonies of those who knew him at his candlelit vigil paints a picture of a shy, kind, humble man, a figure far removed from the brutal intensity of Suicide Silence's live show. A tragedy like this brings home the fragility and uncertainty of life with shocking force. However, there is a lesson to be learned here. Mitch lived a full life, travelling the world and meeting thousands of new people, affecting thousands more with his music. With no way of knowing if our own lives might also be cut so tragically short, we should all follow his example. As Mitch himself once sang: "You only live once, so just go fucking nuts!" **

**R.I.P Mitchell Adam Lucker  
1984 - 2012  
"0ne day there will be no more pain, like an opiate wonderland. No more worry, it will all just end."**

**After long and serious deliberation, I have made the decision to discontinue this fic. Suicide Silence were going to feature heavily in the upcoming chapters, with dialogue scenes between the members of Deep Down and the members of Suicide Silence. I feel that it would be disrespectful to Mitch, and the people who loved him, to write about him in fiction so soon after his passing. I apologise most sincerely to my regular readers and reviewers, and to anyone who has read this far in the story, and wonders what is going to happen next. It really is sod's law. The first time I actually plan out future chapters, and then something terrible happens and rips my plans to shreds. I will of course continue to contribute to FanFiction, both for Kuroshitsuji, but also increasingly for Mass Effect. I hope that you will choose to read and review my new material. Finally, a point of administration. I will remove this fic in two weeks, to ensure any new readers have a chance to reach this point and understand why I can no longer continue with the story. Once more, my sincerest apologies,**

**Kissing Daisy**


End file.
